Brunette Locks
by TheLaziestWriter
Summary: Heracles greatly dislikes Sadiq Adnan, and the latter always teases him. However, Sadiq picks this odd, new habit of playing with Heracles' hair in the middle of their philosophy class; but Heracles can't truthfully deny he enjoys the attention. High school AU. Turkey/Greece, or Sadiq/Heracles. Fluff, very minor cursing.


**Brunette Locks**

_This short fanfic was actually inspired by one of my own TurGre drabbles, which you can find through my profile or through the search function on FF._

_I hope you enjoy reading this! I apologize if it seems rushed towards the end._

—

Heracles is usually in a decent mood around this time of noon, but not now. The heat of the sun is glaring at him most uncomfortably and the weight of his philosophy textbook is taking its toll. Heracles shake his head, hoping to cool himself down in the slightest but it hardly achieves much. Grumpily Heracles ponders if it is the time for a haircut, but he decides against it. He would look too odd with short hair anyway.

Heracles knows that he should not blame his sour mood on the weather; he grew up in Athens, Greece, and he should be able to handle the day's heat because he lived about the Mediterranean Sea all his life. With such a climate and sun-kissed skin he knows better than to blame the weather, or his books which he carries every day. The only thing to blame, however, is Sadiq Adnan.

Thinking about that obnoxious man boils his blood with a grudging anger. There is something about Sadiq that infuriates the Greek, and the feeling is more than mutual. He is one of those people whom you find to be very annoying and you hate them for no valid reason. Well, actually, he does have a reason. That Turkish bastard had made a horrifying comment about his late mother. Needles to say, both Sadiq and Heracles were suspended for a week.

No one desired to be in the same place where Heracles were ever since that incident. However, fate decided to be cruel by placing Heracles and Sadiq in the same philosophy class, and the teacher was less than informed of their unfavorable relationship and assigned their seats adjacent to each other. This is the only awful thing about Heracles' philosophy class. Now, Heracles holds respect for anyone who enjoys philosophy, but it can only go so far.

Sadiq's mannerism are vulgar and showman-like, and he always has to be the center of attention. He wears an intimidating grin, at least towards him, and Heracles hates the stupid mask he wears. What he would give to swipe that white mask and snap it in half, getting away with the criminal act without any bad consequences . . . Heracles smirks at the thought of Sadiq crying, clutching his broken mask to his chest as if it is a wounded family pet. Evilly he chortles.

To distract himself from the disturbing thought of Sadiq, he ponders over his economics class. That is a difficult class, and the teacher, who is more of a scholar than a teacher, does not quite make anything in economics simple or easy. The projects are somewhat inane as well. Although economics is a hard subject for Heracles to grasp, he could understand philosophy very well. There is a certain aspect of philosophy that comes to the Grecian akin to poetry to a poet. The open-mindedness is a freedom which Heracles greatly appreciates in a high school of uniform, school rules, and jerks.

He keeps these thoughts of fancy in his head as he saunters into his favorite class. heracles gives the teacher a small wave as a greeting, and in turn is acknowledge by her sweet smile. She enjoys Heracles' enthusiasm for philosophy, so naturally he would be her student of choice. Heracles smiles as he takes to his assigned seat, which is located to the west side of the classroom. He ruffles through his binders and notes to briefly review before the short passing period is over.

In comes the school's star wrestling champion Sadiq and his Egyptian companion Gupta Hassan. While Sadiq is loud and flamboyant, Gupta is much more quiet and meek. Heracles definitely prefers to associate with Gupta rather than Sadiq, but he finds that he runs out of things to discuss with him. Except cats. Cats are great and graceful and amazing and you can't simply stop talking about them. This is Heracles' counter against an awkward silence between them.

"Yeia sou," Heracles murmurs to Gupta as Sadiq and he are passing by. Sadiq does not receive a greeting (nor does he deserve one, Heracles thinks absentmindedly), and the corner of Heracles' lip tugs upwards as he sees an amber eye twitch behind his mask. Gupta responds to him with a silent, polite nod, and passes through the aisle to his seat. Sadiq sneers and bats Heracles' head with a solid thwack before he sits behind the brat. Heracles grits his teeth but ignores him, although it took all of his will to return the favor.

A few more students rush into the classroom to their seats before the bell rings, signalling to the philosophy teacher that class has begun. She gracefully stands from the chair at her desk and says, "Please turn to page 227 in your philosophy textbooks."

Heracles is among the people who rustle for their textbooks, opening them with a thump. From his peripheral view he notices a few students without textbooks that appear to be ashamed or uncaring. Heracles leans forward as the teacher starts her lecture, finding interest with each spoken word. It is truly this time of day when the Greek student can fully absorb and admire logic and wisdom. He releases a soft sigh of content; he would never fall asleep in his philosophy class.

He hears a chair scoot forward behind him, and he does not mind it until a sharp tug on his hair causes him to gasp a guttural noise of pain. He growls and snaps back to the Turk, only to see a shit-eating grin. "Don't do that," he harshly whispers.

"Do what?" Sadiq relies innocently, arms folded and crosses, and he is hunched over to the wooden desk.

"You are pulling on my hair."

"I didn't do nothin', Jerk-ules."

"Heracles."

"Whatever."

Heracles rolls his eyes and returns his attention to the teacher, who is preaching about the views of different peoples around the world. To say it is interesting is an understatement. Suddenly he feels another tug on his hair, and his lips purse as the flames of his frustration his fanned. He knows the mature thing to do. The Greek scoots forward, desk, chair, and all, quietly. He does not feel like dealing with Sadiq's childishness today.

But, of course, Sadiq scoots forward, too. The Greek feels him tug his hair repetitively and sharply, but Sadiq only has short locks of his hair in hand. When Sadiq would stop for a brief second, Heracles could feel his scalp sting and itch, but he couldn't scratch his scalp because Sadiq would start to mess with his hair again. In a short bout of irritation, Heracles flail about and slaps Sadiq's hands away, growling. Sadiq left him alone afterwards.

The brunette glances to his Japanese friend, Kiku, who is looking at him with pity. Heracles mouths a plea to the other, but Kiku shakes his head with amusement. Heracles pouts. So much for your help and companionship, Kiku. The Grecian sighs, leaning back against his chair.

The lover of philosophy flinches as a large palm rests on his head of long curly hair, but no sharp pain comes to him. Instead, there is soft stroking and affection. Heracles stiffens, unsure if he should brush Sadiq off again. The Turkish teen threads his fingers into his hair, petting him as if he is a feline. Heracles pauses. Well. As long as Sadiq is going to be gentle and not pull his hair out, then this is fine. Nice, actually. Heracles' eyes droop.

With his fingers, Sadiq tenderly massages his scalp, and Heracles will forever deny that he enjoyed the sensation. His fingers travel down the back of his head before only his thumb is rubbing circles on the Grecian's neck. Heracles could not help but outstretch his neck so Sadiq may soothe his tense muscles. Where had that Turk manage to learn this?

His shoulders slump, and Sadiq continues his idle play. Heracles rests himself on his desk into his arms. The older teen teases his hair by stroking it into different places where they normally never are on his mop of hair. The sensation is odd yet pleasant. Heracles finds that he is struggling to keep his eyes open and attentive to the teacher, but it is difficult. He feels his gentle fingertips brush through his hair, caressing him. The Grecian is left with a likeable airness. No arguing or fighting or chaotic nonsense. Heracles could not bother to question himself why Sadiq started this anyways.

From the corner of his sleepy eye, he sees Kiku, more confused and amused than ever. He half-heartedly shrugs to answer him. Heracles could not sense a horrid grin from Sadiq either, which is the most strange enigma of this ordeal. The teacher is becoming blurry and boring, and his muscles relax. His head sinks into his arms and shifts to be more comfortable. The last thing he hears before he is claimed by slumber is a soft shooshing sound.

—

The bell rings, and everyone hops from their seat. All leave for their next class save for Sadiq, Gupta, and Heracles. Sadiq grins mischievously toward his Egyptian friend.

"I always wondered if I could do that," he boasts, gesturing to the sleeping Greek. Gupta is tempted to ask how long always was, but he shakes his head and smiles instead. The pair then carrying on to their next class.

The teacher, who was watching the entire time, goes to coax Heracles into the waking world. Heracles cracks an eye and sees his teacher; he snaps up, immensely embarrassed as there is a flush dusting his cheeks. The teen grabs his books and leaves the class as soon as he realizes the bell had ranged without a word.

The teacher only chuckles.


End file.
